


I know exactly how to touch you

by rmnff



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ASL, Clint is adorable, Deaf Clint, F/M, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha has a cold, Nightmares, Shameless fluff honestly, is fluff without plot a thing? because literally that's it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmnff/pseuds/rmnff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha gives him a look that says Please, I know exactly how to touch you to wake you up so clearly he can’t help laughing. </p><p>(in which Natasha's sick, it's 3am, and Clint's a surprisingly good tea maker.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I know exactly how to touch you

**Author's Note:**

> this is honestly my first fic in the fandom, after... well, a very long time spent just reading stuff. 
> 
> unbeta-ed. all mistakes are mine but unfortunately, nothing else is.

Anyone else would be dead within seconds. Clint’s world is drowned in almost absolute silence and it’s only the knowledge that he fell asleep next to Natasha that makes him take a second to look around when he flinches awake. He could be on his feet, could snap the neck of whoever’s touching him way before his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room but he recognizes the texture of her fingertips and just lazily blinks up at her instead.

Natasha’s lying on her side, her head propped up on her elbow, gently tracing patterns below his ear and down his neck. He’d fallen asleep with his back to her, her arms wrapped around his body like vice and legs tangled in an impossible mess, and now she’s still resting behind him, her smile sort of distant when he stirs and turns a little to look at her.

Natasha’s lips move, just a tiny bit, and Clint has to guess she’s just said “Shhh,” because he knows she does that when it’s the middle of the night and he stirs awake, he doesn’t have to hear her or really read her lips. Instead, he gives her an incoherent, sleepy sound, and rolls over to face her, suddenly too awake to just go straight back to sleep.

Something about Natasha seems tense but she just resettles her hand at his neck when he turns and gives him a soft smile. Her hand is warm, maybe a bit warmer than usual, or it’s just the chill of early autumn that’s left him feeling colder than he’s been used to lately, but it makes him move closer to her, until his head is almost resting against her chest and her shoulder.

Natasha’s fingers scrape the back of his neck and twine into his hair, and he feels her sigh, her chest moving below him, breath tickling his forehead. She’s uneasy, he can tell – while she’s always uncharacteristically affectionate when they’re alone, she’s hardly this hungry for closeness, she’d almost never wake him up in the middle of the night just so she can cuddle.

Usually, that’d happen after a particularly bad mission, when everything’s wrong and she feels like the world’s crashing down around her; which has happened, Clint can recall at least ten nights he’s spent with his arms around her, carrying her through the worst parts of her heartbreak, but tonight’s not one of them. It’s been, as much as it can ever be, an average day, and yet she seems needy, almost desperate to keep him close, to keep his head cradled against her body, to feel the texture of his hair under her fingers.

Clint moves slowly, like he’s approaching a bird or a scared child, trying not to startle her as he pulls back, just enough to catch her eyes. He taps her arm and then raises his hand, signing an _O-K_ , his eyebrows arched to make it a question. Natasha shrugs, reluctantly sitting up so she can sign back. Her hand flies downwards from her chin, accompanied by a small frown – _bad_ – before dragging her index finger away from her temple in a wiggling motion – _dream_.

She looks childlike, almost apologetic, as if she thinks it’s stupid that she’s woken him up because of a nightmare. Clint just nods, giving her a smile that doesn’t really reach his worried gray eyes, and reaches up to touch her forehead. Her skin feels warm and he frowns, biting his lip as he signs _fever_ , touching his own forehead with the back of his hand.

Natasha’s hand darts to her chest, her fingers outstretched and thumb touching her breastbone as she pulls her hand away from her body, _I’m fine._

Clint catches her hand and holds it in his for a moment, fixing her with his gaze. He knows Natasha hates admitting that she’s sick, she rarely gets sick to begin with, and convincing her that she needs to be taken care of is always a challenge. But it’s just past three in the morning and she’s burning up and shaken from a nightmare, so he at least stands a chance to get her to listen.

He kisses her hand and then shifts to stand up, signing a _Wait_ before heading out of the room. To his surprise, Natasha just nods and closes her eyes, which just serves to make him worry more. She’s never that compliant, unless she’s really not feeling good at all.

Clint puts his hearing aids on while he’s boiling tea, mostly for Natasha’s benefit – her ASL is not great, and expecting her to sign when she’s half-asleep and running a fever is too much, though he’d never really tell her that. She’d just argue and insist that she could communicate just fine but still, it makes it easier for both of them.

“Tasha,” he whispers when he walks back into the room, voice rough with sleep and silence.

Natasha stirs and looks up at him, somehow managing to frown and give him a weak smile at the same time when she spots the tray he’s carried into the room.

“Tea,” Clint says somewhat sheepishly and places the tray on the bedside table, taking one of the two large mugs for himself. “And—aspirin, I figured—“

“I told you I’m fine,” Natasha says quietly, but she sighs contently when she reaches for her tea anyway, and only eyes the pills suspiciously for a minute before swallowing them, chasing them with what should be too-hot tea.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” she sighs a few minutes later. He’s curled up against the headboard, knees drawn to his chest, and she’s watching him drink his tea, her own cup cradled in her hands.

“You didn’t wake me up, I—“ Clint starts, and Natasha gives him a look that says _Please, I know exactly how to touch you to wake you up_ so clearly he can’t help laughing.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats, though she mirrors his smile.

“It’s fine, I was just thinking I haven’t had 3am tea in a while,” Clint shrugs, and she looks inclined to slap him. Instead, she closes her eyes and finishes her drink in silence before reaching to leave the empty cup on the cupboard.  
There’s something almost cat-like in the way she lies back down and curls up next to him her eyes sparkling in the darkness of the room when she looks up at him.

“You need anything else?”

Natasha shakes her head, lazily reaching up to pull both of her hands away from her face in a quick sign. _Thank you._

Clint shifts to lie down next to her and takes her hand in his again, bringing it to his lips. When she doesn’t protest, he kisses her burning skin, and then just keeps his lips pressed against it until her breathing slows down and she falls back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a hearing non-native English speaker, so I apologize for both spelling/grammar mistakes and ASL inaccuracies. (it's been a while since my last ASL class. Hi, Ms. W!)
> 
> and of course, feedback is appreciated! :)


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